


A Raven's Song

by thepetulantpen



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Divergance, F/M, Temporary Character Death, and canon timelines, liberties taken with several dnd facts, partially posted on my tumblr with the same username, ships are mostly background, very temporary but major part of the story so be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-05 22:40:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16819876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepetulantpen/pseuds/thepetulantpen
Summary: "After the dust and the ash and the bodies settle, he is the only one left. The gnome and his silly words and his songs and his stories, for all the good they’ve ever done."(Or, where Scanlan becomes a paladin of the Raven Queen instead of Vax)





	1. Chapter 1

After the dust and the ash and the _bodies_ settle, he is the only one left. The gnome and his silly words and his songs and his stories, for all the good they’ve ever done. 

He’s left with not pieces to pick up but mere crumbs. The air around him reeks of the death of both allies and enemies, his friends, lover, his _family_ all beyond repair. He has no songs left, almost no spells at all. He’d put everything he had into this fight, he’d thought he’d be fighting till his last breath, alongside his friends. He’d thought “This is how we’ll all go. Together.” And they had. They’d all gone together, fighting all the while. 

Except for Scanlan. 

It all hits him again, having everything ripped from him, being forced out of his life by goblins or gods. He sees his mom and his new family, just out of reach. Just like after his mom, he thinks “there’s no coming back from this.” Now there’s no musical troupe to run to, no new life to be had. It’s all too much, this time. He can’t find people like this ever again, not in all his centuries. 

“Fuck.”

...

He pulls himself away from his spot deliberately not looking at the bodies, not even that of their enemy (who were they even fighting?), that’s been partially disintegrated. He figures he won’t spontaneously drop dead just sitting there, so he plans to wander the forest until something happens for him to react to. 

It’s a lot sooner than he thinks. Hell, he doesn’t even make it to the forest before he sees a raven. He knows what those mean, they’ve dealt with the Raven Queen just a few times, but he _knows_. And he’s _furious_. His friends are dead and he’s standing there cursing out a raven possibly sent by a god he barely knows anything about but godsdamn what else is there to do? 

The raven caws at him in retaliation but stands its ground on the low hanging branch just above Scanlan’s head, eyes unnaturally blank and stance unnaturally stiff. 

“Well, come on out then, you bitch. Come tell me about death. About how fucking sacred it is. Come on!” 

Blood pouring down his face and the stench of old tombs is par for the course on the battlefield so it’s only the sound of a million ravens rushing past his ears that alerts Scanlan to the transition into a dark chamber, where he finds himself facing down a giant mask. 

The mask’s expression is fixed in place, but somehow seems disappointed anyway. Scanlan clears his throat and readjusts himself, putting on a face and stance more open for negotiation than his grief sharpened glare and barely held together slouch. 

“Sorry.” 

The mask moves closer, it’s huge and infinite, but Scanlan is used to feeling small. 

“I’ll make a deal with you.”

A raven caws and it sounds suspiciously like laughter. Scanlan is offended but doesn’t show it, focused now.

“I can be useful to you. For a long time.” 

The mask’s mouth opens finally, and the abyss within it is almost worse than the white expanse of mask, but Scanlan is accustomed to making people laugh even at the precipice if disaster. This is no different. 

“That’s many lives you’re asking for, little gnome. How could you possibly justify such a massive favor?” 

He casts Suggestion, at such a low level and on a _god_ at that, but dammit he may as well try. The mask doesn’t even notice but Scanlan stands straighter with his familiar magic at his side, looking straight into those darkened eyes with the confidence of a man who’s built his life on bullshit and indignity. 

“I can do anything. I am Burt Reynolds, Esquire. I am Aes Adon. I am The Meat Man. I am the Kingslayer. I am Scanlan Shorthalt and I can complete any task put before me just by _saying_ it.” 

He hears a dice roll and he’s never had much luck in gambling but this time, he’s feeling good. 

The mask and its previously unseen body of darkness and feathers shrinks from an infinity to just the imperious height of most gods and then to Grog’s height and then to an average human’s and then to just an inch above Scanlan’s. The Matron Of Ravens looks ridiculous as a gnome but she holds out a corpse like hand and Scanlan reaches to take it- 

“Wait. One more thing.”

She reels her hand back, surprised, and almost offended, that he would dare continue to push his luck. The blood pooling at their feet, blood that Scanlan didn’t even notice before now, bubbles and boils, turning a deeper red. 

“I’m granting you the lives of all your friends at just the price of your _service_ and you still have more to ask? You are an audacious and foolish gnome. What more could you want?”

Scanlan clears his throat and tries to clear his head as the horror swirls around them, but the image of Vex’s frown stubbornly sticks in the forefront of his mind. 

“You’ve got to bring the bear back, too. Trinket,” he pauses and adds, for pity points, “Vex will never forgive me if you don’t.” 

For just a moment, the sounds of laughing caws of ravens and burbling blood threatens to overtake him and Scanlan thinks she might refuse, might take back her offer altogether. But the Raven Queen only sighs, and when she does the whole chamber sags with her, blood settling and ravens sleeping. 

“It will be done.”

...

When the taste of blood leaves his mouth and the ravens vanish, Scanlan is standing alone in the field once more. His eyes instinctively rove over his friends and he flinches at the sight. Still dead. Very dead. 

He tries to look at the ground instead but it’s soaked in blood so he just closes his eyes and sinks down to his knees, arms wrapped around himself to keep it together. He’s always humming, a mindless habit, but in the utter _silence_ of the dead field, he’s become conscious of it. It’s one of the first tunes he ever learned to play, the first song anybody ever learns to play when they first pick up a flute. It’s simple and not very exciting but it calms his nerves, reminding him of warmups before performances when his mom would coach him through his anxiety. 

There’s a gasp and a sharp _crack_ nearby as Scanlan looks to see Percy, first one down and now first one to rise, lurch to his feet. He reflexively reloads his gun and aims it at the now empty battlefield before releasing there’s nothing to shoot at. Nothing living except Scanlan, curled up like a child on the blood stained grass. Percy’s eyes go immediately to where he last saw Vex and, in the process of trying to find her, passes over the bodies of the rest of Vox Machina, a look of horror crossing his features at the realization that it might just be him. 

Scanlan moves to stand and Percy startles, having apparently not seen his small form yet, but stops himself from shooting just in time. 

“Scanlan? What-“

Another series of loud snapping noises sound, on both ends of the field this time. Percy looks to the right and Scanlan looks to the left, coming to their senses enough to watch as the bodies of Vax’ildan and Vex’ahalia rise from their crumpled heaps simultaneously. They had both fallen, literally fallen from their spots up high, at same time but in different places, Vex on her broom shooting at range and Vax climbing up the monster like an idiot. Now, the broken parts of their bodies are snapping back into place as their hunched, zombie-like bodies stand and reform themselves. The dead eyes of Vax’s corpse stares at Scanlan for just a second before he breathes and fills with life again, dagger coming to his hand just as Percy’s gun had when he awoke. Vex is the same, grasping for an arrow before she even knows what’s happening. Gods they’re so fucked up. 

Percy rushes over to Vex, arms out, presumably to catch her if she falls, but trips over an errant bone and plummets to the ground. Vex reaches out to catch him but ends up caught in his momentum and collapses on top of him, the two already giggling even in these first harrowing moments of new life. 

“Scan-man, what’s going on?” 

Vax, with his typical paleness returning to his face in the absence of the stagnant grayish color of his corpse, wanders up to Scanlan, looking disoriented but blessedly alive. 

“I... I’ll explain later.”

“Later? When-“

The sound of what must be a mountain shifting and the thudding of a mass of bodies to the ground breaks all of them out of their stupor, heads turning just in time for the _roar_. Grog, covered in blood and various other semi-fluid materials, emerges from underneath several dead monsters, having succumbed to the horde of minions that converged on him just before death. He’s in a rage as soon as he wakes, or maybe even before, with blood red fury in still dead eyes. He heaves bodies off of him even as the fatal wound on his chest is still piecing itself to together, even as his breath and heartbeat work to take up a rhythm again, even as his mind struggles to return to a body spurring into action much too soon. 

But it settles, as it always does, and Grog stands in front of them, coherent but confused. 

“What ‘apened? Where’s Pike?”

Scanlan flinches at the memory of him and Pike, the last two tiny people against the massive beast. He remembers her face as Keyleth goes down. He remembers her face when she sees him, near death standing only a few feet away. He remembers the sinking feeling in his stomach he gets when he sees the resolve on her face. He remembers the warmth of Sarenrae spreading through him for what he thought might be the last time. He remembers her last, sad thumbs up before she’s crushed. He doesn’t remember the song that finally takes the beast down but he does remember every useless healing word to Pike afterwards. 

But of course he remembers, all that was less than an hour ago. Less than an hour ago, everyone was dead. And now here he is, standing in front of Grog and trying to bring himself to reassure him when he’s really not sure of anything at the moment. 

Keyleth rises like a ghost, much less damaged than the rest of them who’d had time to be trampled throughout the rest of the battle. Scanlan can’t tell the difference between strands of red hair and tracks of blood on her face, it’s all stuck together anyway, but he can tell when she comes back as she smiles at all of them, delighted to see her friends. Vex and Vax give her a tight hug, and Percy joins them, caught up in the joy of miraculous revivals. 

It leaves Scanlan with Grog. 

“Don’t worry, buddy, I think Pike is-“ 

A loud clang marks her arrival as a suit of brilliantly glowing armor seems to come to life and a beautiful gnome appears within it, as soon as she’s able to adjust her tousled state. Her head is turned thankfully away for the few moments it takes for the head wound to stitch itself together but when it’s done, she blinks at them, blue eyes filling with happy tears when she recognizes her family, all alive and smiling. 

Grog scoops up both his gnomes and pretends not to cry, hugging them so tight Scanlan thinks he might meet the Raven Queen again sooner than he thought. 

“This is wonderful, I’m so glad you’re all alright, but... Scanlan, what happened? How’re we all alive?” 

Everyone is looking at him now and he thinks it’s not fair that he has to perform after going through so many emotions but the show must go on. 

“It’s a very long, very exciting story of a hero and his amazing good looks and charming personality. The hero being me, of course.” 

Percy rolls his eyes. “I suppose there was a sort of divine intervention, yes?” 

There Percy goes again, always ruining his fun. “Well, Vax, do you remember the Raven Queen?”

“Yeah? We just had the one chat with her, right? Creepy mask lady?”

“It just so happens that through my unending wealth of charm, I was able to persuade her to assist us. Really, it just proves that I am entirely irresistible. Even gods want a piece of this.” He motions to his body, which is currently covered in blood and torn clothing, to accentuate his point. 

“You mean to tell us you’ve sold yourself to the Raven Queen to bring us back?” Percy just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could he?

The party colors with varying shades of distress, except for Grog who doesn’t seem to know what they’re talking about yet. Pike looks particularly alarmed, as Scanlan predicted, at the prospect of a deal with death. 

“Relax! I’ll just be her... paladin or champion or something, it’s not a big deal. It’s not like a sold my soul to a demon.” 

“Scanlan, is this really ok? Do you even know what she’ll ask you to do?” Pike takes his wrist and forces him look at her, stern look on her face to ground him in the seriousness of the situation, leaving no room for an easy, comedic way out. 

“It’ll be fine. Vox Machina is more important.” 

Pike isn’t convinced, but Vex interrupts. 

“Oh! Trinket!”

She grasps at her necklace, realizes he’s not there and deflates. 

“The one time we left the fucking bear behind. Do we even know where he is?” Vax is trying to keep neutral, trying to keep from saying what they’re all thinking. 

“He’s probably just out of range, trampled by those fucking monsters. He’s dead.” Vex doesn’t beat around the bush like her brother. She turns to Scanlan with an icy stare that’s not any less terrifying accompanied by her sad sniff. “Don’t you dare give me any smartass comments now about how we should’ve left him in town or whatever. Unless you want a turn at the dying thing.” 

“I’m offended, I’m _hurt_ , that you think so little of me as to make such an inappropriate comment-“ he stops at Vex’s look and quickly amends, “The bear lives. Don’t worry.” 

“Are you fucking messing with me because-“

“No, I swear! I told the Raven Queen to bring him back.” 

“You told a _god_ to bring a bear back to life?” Percy looks so very proud of him. 

“Of course I told her to bring it back, the Raven Queen has nothing on Vex’s contempt. I wouldn’t hear the end of it for at least a century-“

Vex grabs him in the second near deadly hug of the evening. He smiles with the rest of them, grief finally disappearing from where he thought it’d set up permanent residence on his heart. 

Vox Machina celebrates their lives on the way to find Trinket, merrily walking through the blood stained forest arm in arm. 

Vox Machina laughs. 

A raven caws. 

...

Scanlan is very powerful. Even more powerful than before. _Scary_ powerful. 

People, monsters, reality itself _bend_ to him, even more than they did before. 

He finds that, as he works more closely with the Raven Queen, earning his keep, the control he exerts becomes mindless. An irritable snap becomes an all-consuming command, cheeky requests are considered with upmost seriousness, simple songs have people falling for him with an undying loyalty.

It’s become a bit of a problem, if he’s honest. 

Talking to people is almost exhausting now, he’s constantly keeping track of his tone and reigning in the magic that’s become more than he can handle. 

Vex asks what the fuck is wrong with him and when he just shakes his head, she lets it go, for once. Pike doesn’t ask, just scoots closer and holds his hand when he doesn’t feel like talking. Grog is, surprisingly, the first of Vox Machina to confront him. 

“Scanlan?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“You haven’t been singing. You sick or somethin?” 

“No, Grog, I just... ah, I guess I’ve been sorta tired, with everything going on.” 

Sneaking out at random times during the night when a raven’s caw interrupts his dreams, dragging himself back covered in ash and the stench of overripe death. He never knows what he’s going to come up against, a single wayward mage or a horde of undead. Sometimes he’s got an army to support, sometimes it’s just him. He didn’t think he’d ever be the central force of combat like he’s been the past days, but his songs have certainly risen to the occasion, turning the tide and banishing creatures back to the void they crawled out of with just a word. 

And nobody really knows the difference. It’s just Scanlan disappearing every once in a while, maybe off to some mischief or maybe they just haven’t been looking for him. 

He shouldn’t think like that.

“Well, do you feel up to it now? I’ve been thinkin on doing some stupid shit and I need a good talker, you know, just in case.” 

“Oh Grog, I... I don’t know, I was actually about to head out, uh, maybe some other time?” 

Grog squints at him. “Where’re you going?”

Scanlan stops and sighs. Where _is_ he going? 

“You’re acting weird. What’s going on?” 

Scanlan wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t need this right now. He doesn’t need Grog of all people to be seeing through his lies. 

“It’s not a big deal.” 

“What isn’t?”

Scanlan winces. He’s so tired, he can’t even talk around Grog. 

“It’s just, my magic has been a... just a bit more powerful than I’m used to. I don’t want to use it and... accidentally hurt somebody, you know? So I’m toning it down for just a bit. Don’t worry about it, really.” 

Grog looks... thoughtful? Or constipated. One of the two. Maybe both. 

“Is it like, when I get mad?”

Scanlan blinks and it takes him a second to realize Grog is talking about his rages. “Uh, sorta? I guess if you want to think of it that way?” 

“Cause like...” Grog looks excited, and Scanlan has the sense to be both intrigued and terrified, “I could always teach you how I’m so, like, cool and collected when I’m raging. Maybe that would help with your magic?”

He takes a moment to try and reconcile the image of Grog raging with the words “cool and collected” then he tries to imagine what Grog’s “help” could possibly mean in this context. He has a brief vision of him and Grog going at each other with comically oversized axes.

This is sure be some stupid shit. Scanlan is so on board. 

“You know what? Fuck it, let’s rage.” 

Grog grins. 

...

It involves a lot of roaring. And growling. And generally being a menace. 

Grog says the point is to push yourself as close to edge as you can get without going over. That way, he can be mad without pushing the rage button all the time. It’s actually pretty smart, but Grog has always been smart when it comes to combat. 

Grog graciously skips the parts requiring battle axes and jumps into throwing something Scanlan is proficient in: insults. 

It’s goofy and it’s fun to just stand in the middle of a training room filled with weapons and have a shouting match with a friend. It’s all your mama jokes and inside jokes and deeper cutting teasing so Scanlan loses himself in the fluidity of it, thinking up retaliation after retaliation. The intensity grows and Scanlan doesn’t even notice as Grog eggs him on, is that all you got, come on make him cry, make him really feel the next one, dig deep, find something that _hurts_. 

The next one strikes a nerve and Scanlan feels it, a flash of _triumph_ pulsing through him, but Grog _winces_ as purple light flickers in his eyes. 

“Oh shit- I, I’m sorry Grog-“

“No. That’s good. You’ve hit your limit, now beat it. Do it again, without the magic.” 

He does. 

“No, not good enough. Louder.”

He tries. 

“Are you trying to insult me? Let’s go, make it good this time.”

The insult pierces the air again and in Scanlan’s frustration he knows he put too much behind it and Grog’s eyes flash purple again. Scanlan moves to apologize again, maybe they shouldn’t do this- 

“Try again.”

He takes a breath. Says it again. Too soft. Again. Lame. Again. Flat. 

One more time. 

The delivery is good, the timing is good, his tone is just right, really laying into him. It’s not as good as it was the first time but this was certainly a start. 

“Good. Now, come on let’s go again. Insult my mother, my face, my axe. No magic.”

Scanlan is back in the game, trying to think of a new bald joke to make. 

...

It’s _grueling_ but it works. Training with Grog is straining his vocal cords but it’s worth it because he can _talk_ again. Really talk, the way he’s meant to. Swindling, seducing, singing, all with the upmost control and power. Even the Raven Queen hums an acknowledgement in his head when he takes down a monster not with uncontrolled power but finely tuned, precise words. 

It’s an excuse to make this more difficult for him, apparently. 

The Raven Queen does whatever she sees fit with his life, enhancing his power and pushing him into greater enemies, all for the sake of his debt. Six lives. Actually, seven lives, as she likes to remind him. 

He’s gone for two days in a lair underground. He doesn’t remember most of it. Liches, maybe. Necromancers, probably. Undead, definitely. 

What he does know is showing up back home covered in blood and just wanting to sleep is not a great idea. He runs into Pike first, which is either wonderful or terrible luck. Bit of both, perhaps. 

“Scanlan! What- what _happened_?” 

“Nothing, Pike, just, uh.” He struggles to come up with anything. He’s so tired. 

She reaches out and heals him, relief so strong after hours, days technically, of strain that he stumbles and she has to help him right himself. 

“Thanks, Pikey. My angel, love of my life, best healer on all the planes-“

“Scanlan.” 

He winces at the stern expression, Pike could turn a god to stone with that look. 

“I pushed it a little, alright? But it’s not like I can really refuse, I mean she’s a god.” 

Pike looks, well, furious at this, at what it means for Scanlan, but she holds it together, biting back a harsher response. It is not wise to question the gods. 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t have _help_. Let me help you, let _us_ help you. You don’t have to take all this on by yourself, Scanlan.”

She pulls him into a tight embrace and he feels her hands on his back tremble, she’s so worried for him and he feels terrible for making her feel that way. He wishes he didn’t have to do this, wishes there had been some other way. But really, any other way would’ve been worse, right?

“We’re all worried, Scanlan. I mean she just asks so much of you, I’m scared you’ll... break under the pressure.”

“Hey, at least the Raven Queen isn’t evil. I’m not going around making deals with shadow demons or talking swords. Besides, I think she wants as much of living Scanlan as she can get. She’s got an _infinity_ to work with dead Scanlan, who is not nearly as charming.”

Pike frowns, not convinced at all. She’s getting good at seeing through his smoke and mirrors. Scanlan relaxes a little, lets his guard down. It’s a visible transformation in his smile, eyes, shoulders. 

“She’s not going to get me killed on purpose, Pike. She’s a god of death, not a monster.” 

Pike scoots even closer up against him, noses almost touching, eyes taking up his whole field of vision. 

“Promise me you’ll call one of us next time. Take me or Grog or, hell, even _Trinket_ with you.”

Scanlan bites his lip and tries to ease back, to a distance compatible with lying, but Pike steps on his foot. With her metal boot. Ouch. 

“ _Promise_ me, Scanlan.”

“Alright, alright! I promise.” 

... 

A cleric of Sarenrae and a paladin of the Raven Queen walk into a graveyard. 

The punchline is Pike’s metal fist disintegrating undead with her light and Bigby’s clenched fist sweeping through the remaining enemies. 

They work well together, Pike and Scanlan, even if they work for different gods. 

Pike glows with the light of her god, grasping her holy symbol as she fights, letting her whole being be an outlet for Sarenrae, Sarenrae and her goodness and her will to help people. 

Scanlan has stuck a single raven feather in his hat. 

It’s not a name or a blade or a life that he gives the Raven Queen but a song, many songs, as he works in her name. Reluctant, at first, but accepting as he comes to understand the job that must be done. 

Scanlan is not a man of duty or justice, but he will do whatever he can for his family. 

If that means serving the Raven Queen, then that’s what he’ll do. Simple as that. 

A burst of light and a note of a song is all it takes to dissolve legions of undead before them. Pike and Scanlan smile at each other and go home hand in hand, covered in blood and exhausted but victorious all the same. 

He calls on his family and all this is a little more bearable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's part one! Yes, the second part is complete but I need to edit it so it'll be posted whenever I get around to that. Stay tuned, and let me know if you like it so far!
> 
> Please be gentle with any criticisms- I'm only one very busy student who's new to this whole fic writing scene!


	2. Chapter 2

To make a very long story short, they fight. 

Vox Machina fights and it wins, wins against everything they face.

Except, perhaps, themselves. 

Scanlan sings, wields a force he doesn’t really understand and reaches his own death for a few moments, stares up at the Raven Queen’s smirking mask, wakes up.

And then he does it again.

“Have you finally expended your life, little gnome? Cut short so many centuries? And here I thought,” the mask pushes itself up against Scanlan, nose bigger than his whole body, “you were going to be lively and useful for so much longer. Perhaps I took the wrong gamble on you.”

“Gambling is a terrible habit, my lady,” Scanlan smirks and pulls on a distraught face, as if the shock of death is only catching up to him now, “You’ll have to carry on without me, my goddess! Death is overtaking me, corrupting me- Ah! Alas, I am too sad, too _grief stricken_ by my own fragile mortality to sing for you!” 

He lets himself fall backwards, caught by the writhing shadows, and pushes a hand against his forehead, playing a damsel in distress. Theatrical, even in death. 

The mask only shakes her head at his antics and sinks into her humanoid form, gesturing for him to follow. He does, as he will probably always do. 

“Come, there is work to be done.”

Scanlan is up, donning a new cloak and readying himself to face an afterlife of service, so that Vox Machina, so that his family, will continue without him. He hopes Pike keeps her promise. He hopes Grog gets to slay all the monsters he wants. He hopes that Percy and Vex and Vax and Keyleth are all _happy_. 

He hears music and some words, muffled through layers and layers of shadows. It rings in his ears like a song he’s got stuck up there but it doesn’t stop and it gets louder as he concentrates. Louder and louder until he’s suspended between two worlds, cold shadows in one half and a cold altar in the other. 

The Raven Queen only smiles and shakes her head again, waving her hand to dismiss him.

“I expect _miracles_ , gnome, for all this mischief. Miracles and songs.” 

Scanlan believes he can deliver on that.

...

There’s no real break in this life.

It’s impossible to just quit, to just leave. He wants to, he wants to just go, to just abandon all of this. 

But there’s a family and a goddess and a whole continent breathing down his back so he can’t just stop. 

And yet, it’s impossible stay, to hold tight and have faith in Vox Machina. He wants to keep being their comic relief, wants to support his family, wants to believe in them. 

But he’s got a kid and he’s got all these doubts and he can’t do it anymore.

Before, he always had himself and he always knew what he could do, whether that was inspiring a friend or bending a monster to his will or serving the Raven Queen. Now, he’s not sure he can even bare to travel with these people while feeling like he doesn’t fit, feeling like an afterthought with too many problems and not enough solutions. There’s nobody watching out for Scanlan, and now he knows he can’t watch out for himself. 

He’s stuck in a painful limbo of explosive arguments and reluctant fights and desperate attempts at reconciliation as they talk in circles. All this fighting and arguing but he’s still unwilling to pull the trigger on this whole thing. There’d be too many complications, a break of contract with something beyond all of them, something that wants him to keep adventuring, in her name. 

On the worst days, he runs from it all, digs a hole in his soul and buries his head in the sand, ignoring the birds with all his might, consequences be damned. 

On best days, he’s not called upon and he sits with Kaylie and listens to her, really listens. They sing and they rest and they pretend that nothing is happening and that he can be a real dad. 

He works to make her the top priority, works to spend every inch of time he can possibly spare for just her, to make up for all the time wasted and all the time he could’ve wasted if he hadn’t come back. 

The forces of death and life are warring through him and tearing apart all his plans with the whispering words of gods in his ears and the shouts of people he knows too well. With time, Kaylie understands, even when Scanlan tells her she shouldn’t have to, and they fall into a pattern of _trying_. Trying with everything they have to make this right even with everything working against them. 

Trying, as Vox Machina fades into the background, not with an argument but with a tired sigh. 

...

They all sit together at the table, between adventures, between personal quests. Vox Machina has never quite stopped, and they are struggling to find an end. They have fought dragons and all manner of monster and men, but when is the last? Where do they draw the line? 

“One day,” Keyleth has been drinking a lot, too early in the afternoon, “we will fight god and we’ll win. _Then_ they’ll let us retire.” 

Percy and Vex, stuck together like jigsaw pieces on the couch, frown a little at the words, as if they’ve just now realized the predicament they’re in.

Keyleth and Vax don’t seem quite as concerned, Keyleth because she’s drunk and Vax because he’s never thought ahead a day in his life. It’s probably more of a relief to hear that he’s trapped in his fate than that he’ll have to choose it. 

Grog is, predictably, excited at the possibility Keyleth suggests and Pike, well, Pike just looks a bit concerned, like a mother hearing her child talk of fighting a war. 

Scanlan is there by default while Kaylie is off doing her own thing. He might as well catch up with other family in the meantime. 

“Pretty sure they wouldn’t be able to argue if we just quit. I mean what can they really do? Guilt trip us?” Scanlan lies like breathing, natural with the flow of his words. 

“Do not underestimate the power of a guilt trip, Scanlan.” Percy very tactfully doesn’t look at Vex as he shares his wisdom. 

Keyleth doesn’t bother to demonstrate that same tact as she gracelessly pushes herself up in the couch cushions and glares at Scanlan. 

“Yeah, Scanlan, why _don’t_ you just leave? Thought you were tryin to be a father or somethin. Why’d you keep coming back, really?” Keyleth is slurring her words but it doesn’t make them sting any less.

Vax gently takes away her glass. 

Scanlan _wants_ to point out that he can’t leave, that he never really leave. Not anymore. Too many promises, too many things at stake, too many powerful, powerful beings. 

But he can’t always get what he wants.

A raven caws and he stops himself short, fighting not to get up and move immediately, to not make it too obvious. He shifts in his seat, drawing up the appropriately hurt expressions. He thinks he should respond or say something before he makes an excuse to leave but Keyleth isn’t even looking at him anymore, slumped back against Vax, so he lets the awkward moment pass. 

“Well, this has been an enlightening conversation, but I think I’m just going to go get something to eat.”

And with that, he gets up and turns into the hall, determined not to acknowledge Percy’s knowing stare.

“Scanlan?”

Speak of the white haired devil. 

Scanlan whirls back around to face Percy in the hallway, leaning casually just out of the door way, not for a private conversation but a passing remark. 

“Be careful?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

And it’s _nothing_ , really, but it’s concern and it’s _trying_. 

...

Turns out, Percy trying is a little annoying, kind of smothering, and very hypocritical. 

“I know quite a bit about deals, Scanlan, and their consequences. I could help.”

“Forgive me if I don’t want to take advice from you and your list.”

“That’s fair.”

Scanlan rubs a tired hand over his face, wishing Pike was around to ease the pressure in his temples. 

“Sorry, I just-“

“No, I understand.”

And that’s Percy, because Percy _understands_ and Percy _knows_. Percy understands, in theory, that this isn’t the best situation and he knows, in theory, that there are ways to minimize the damage but Percy cannot always perform miracles of science or language with his knowledge, sometimes, many times, he gives into grief and anger and uses his knowledge as a weapon pointed at his own head. 

Percy cannot fix this, not anymore effectively than he can fix his own choices, but he can _understand_ when Scanlan says he needs to do something and he can _know_ when Scanlan needs an excuse to chase a raven. 

“If only it was as simple as throwing a gun in an acid pit.”

“You never know, you could try throwing a raven in some acid.” Percy knows when to give Scanlan his jokes, understands, now, that they can build on the past rather than let it destroy them.

“You boys are so dumb.”

Vex does not try to fix what she can’t understand but she is proficient in distraction, which is just as important and is often the way Scanlan lives his life, a constant distraction from something that could be very sad if it wasn’t interrupted so often with inane bullshit. 

Scanlan's life becomes populated by all sorts of stupid shenanigans involving magic and food and money that Vex is willing to participate in, willing to encourage them and help them grow to their full peak of stupidity. It’s enough to forget in between calls, enough things to live, enough to be preoccupied with something other than the eternity on the horizon. 

Vex gives him another feather to put in his hat because, as she put it, it looks stupid with just the one raven feather. Percy gives him a lot of words that go by a bit too fast for Scanlan to bother with. 

It’s _caring_ and he’s happy for respite. 

...

“I’d take your place if I could.”

“Oh gods no, as if we needed you to be _more_ angsty.”

Vax’s signature soft chuckle, the sort that sounds like it’s been through hell just to have the honor of becoming sound, barely permeates the quiet nighttime air. Only Scanlan and the raven in the tree beside them can hear his laugh before it is overtaken by silence again. 

Vax ruffles Scanlan’s hair in a gesture he’s decided to regard as endearing instead of insulting. “I don’t know how you handle all of this. Between our own life or death stuff and the thing with the goddess and your _daughter_. Gods, how do you keep all of this straight, and with a smile on your face?” 

“As far as I’m concerned, I’m just lucky to have all of you.”

“But still, you’ve got a goddess of death breathing down your back for eternity. How can you-“

“Vax.” 

Scanlan’s voice has taken a great many shapes over the years, fitting itself to any situation he might find himself in. It implores his audience to listen, using any possible pull it can muster. Now, it’s gentle, imbued with wisdom gained only with years rather than some conscious effort on Scanlan’s part. 

“A future serving the Raven Queen alongside you all is infinitely better than a future free from the Raven Queen without Vox Machina,” he reaches up, with a ridiculous hop, to grab Vax’s hand, “We’re a family. I’ll make sacrifices to keep us together, just like any of you would.” 

Scanlan pauses, trying to find the best way to organize his thoughts. 

“There was a time when I don’t think I could’ve done this. There was a time when I couldn’t have stood my ground, when I couldn’t have committed to the Raven Queen just so Vox Machina could live to terrorize or save the world another day. There was a time when I would’ve run away, when it would’ve been easy for me to run away. There was a time when I _did_ run away.” 

Vax looks at Scanlan, face packed so full of emotion that it stops him in his tracks like a runaway train. Whatever that means. 

“But Vax, I need you guys. I need you guys, not because you can solve my problems or because you can solve the world’s problems or even because you know me or need me. I need you because when I’m with you, with everyone, with Vox Machina, I can smile and I can be happy. I can’t say that about before or even when I left. I’m having fun while all this lasts and I’m going to make it last as long as it can.”

Scanlan stops, just once more. Vax isn't looking at him.

"And that's why I kept coming back, why I never really stayed away. Not just the Raven Queen wanted me to, or because Kaylie went off to school, but because I love all of you and I know I can't live without you." 

Vax just hums, staring into the middle distance like it’s stolen his soul. Scanlan wonders where he goes when he does that and wonders if he’ll start doing that too, if this whole raven motif turns him into a real goth. He’s not sure he has the same wealth of sadness to dive into but he supposes he has many long, dark centuries ahead to find out. There’s a flash of white as Vax fidgets, the symbol of the Everlight between his fingers glinting in the moonlight, the only light-colored thing on his person. It fits him, Scanlan thinks, a lot better than he could’ve predicted. 

“We should head back. Unless you have to, uh-" Vax inclines his head towards the raven watching them from a few feet away.

Scanlan doesn’t make eye contact with it. She’ll come after him if she really needs him tonight.

“Nah. Let’s go.”

...

“It’s not fair.”

“Lots of things aren’t fair, Keyleth.”

“It’s bullshit is what it is.”

“Lots of things are bullshit, Keyleth.”

Scanlan is currently face down on a couch cushion, trying to ward off his exhaustion with only a short nap, regain just enough energy to get back to work. He really can’t afford to sleep right now, he’s got songs to write, things to buy, research to do and missions to complete. Keyleth, standing by his head, also looks tired, but in a more emotional “I’ve worried myself sick over something” way rather than a physical “I’ve stayed up several days reading, writing and smiting things” exhaustion. 

“I just- I just don’t think one entity should be able to have so much control over us. Who is the Raven Queen that she’s the one with all the bargaining chips? Why should we have to go to _her_?”

Scanlan is trying to ignore this particular tirade just because he’s not sure he can handle it with grace, but Keyleth is getting increasingly loud, as she is prone to. 

“Why should I trust the Raven Queen’s judgement? Why does she decide what’s a fair trade?”

“Because she’s got the most power, Keyleth. That’s how _everything_ is decided. The one with the stronger words, or the stronger weapon, or the stronger magic wins.” 

Keyleth’s face scrunches into one of distaste, unwilling to accept that particular reality, despite taking advantage of it frequently. Her faces falls in the next second. 

“Why does the Raven Queen get to take my friends from me?” it’s quiet, so quiet, unnatural coming from cheerful, energetic Keyleth. Scanlan isn’t sure if he was even meant to hear that. 

“She’s not taking me, Keyleth. I’m right here.”

Scanlan’s voice is muffled by the cushion he’s buried it in but the exhaustion must convey in his tone anyway because he peeks over and sees Keyleth’s face form a mask of guilt, familiar from their many disastrous escapes. 

“I’m sorry, Scanlan, you must not want to hear this right now, _I’m sorry_.”

And with those last words, Scanlan feels a warmth float through his head like a gentle breeze that brushes away his headache. Power that can rear storms and spark great fires reduced down to a cure for Scanlan’s self-imposed headache. 

Of course she’s given him more than just a concentration boost, more than just a healing word. She’s given him a portion of that all-powerful sort of kindness she always carries, unstoppable, able to pass through fire and storm to reach her friends with not the right words, but caring words all the same. 

“Thanks, Keyleth.”

...

Godsdammit Keyleth. 

She couldn’t have been wrong about just one thing, could she?

He’s bruised and bleeding, desperately facing down a wannabe god armed with a plan that’s falling apart at the seams and an overly complicated set of armor adorned with so many raven feathers he looks like an emo chicken. 

But he’s _flying_ , really _flying_ with his own wings so that’s cool. 

He’s splitting his attention between keeping himself in the air and using Bigby’s hand to lift Vax, who’s scowling at Vex sailing above him on her broom. Scanlan is trying to hold himself together in the face of near certain doom, trying to figure out what spell he’s casting in the next three seconds, trying to save the fucking world. 

It’s a long fight. Sweat and blood are pouring from enemies and allies, mixing together in a, frankly, disgusting sludge of pain. In the moment, there’s no glory or righteousness or purpose. It’s all just trying to live, trying to get this thing done. From Scanlan's experience, and in his professional opinion, battles hurt and they’re gross. 

But in taverns after the fact, he’ll tell tales of their bravery and he’ll recount the story in simplified moments stitched together into something that’ll make his audience ooh and ahh, something that’ll be glorious in a way that battle can never be when recited truthfully. Scanlan is a storyteller and he’ll make sure their story is told as a collage of their most epic hits, their most tragic falls and their most glorious victories. 

One day, he hopes, he’ll tell the story to his kids. He’ll tell them about the punches and the explosions with awesome sound effects and theme music. He’ll tell them about him and Pike flying side by side, black raven feather wings and pure white angel wings carrying them towards the same target. He’ll tell them about the moment it all stops, the moment they know they’ve saved the world. 

Kaylie smiles and calls him a sap but it’s all ok. He’s happy to be home.

He won’t tell anybody about the ravens lurking just at the edges, perched on broken buildings and corpses. He won’t tell them how those harbingers of death, those servants of the Raven Queen look at him, their stare a promise, an inevitability. 

_Someday. But not today._

He won’t tell them how he fears he won’t be able to save himself like he could Vox Machina and the world. He won’t tell them because he knows, if he plays his cards right, it’ll be a long time before he ever has to leave his family for Her. 

A long time, far in the future, where the wrinkled but still beautiful face of Pike is the last thing he sees before a dark, faithful eternity. 

...

“I can’t believe they left you with me.”

Trinket snorts in mutually disgruntled way and shuffles behind Scanlan as he tries to find somewhere in the mansion he can watch the bear and work at the same time. The training room will have to do, even if he’d really rather not have to sit on the floor to write. At least this way the bear won’t make a mess anywhere important. 

If Trinket is unhappy about being stuck in such a boring place, he doesn’t make it known as he plops down beside Scanlan and idly rolls in the stray sand. Scanlan has resigned himself to not be able to concentrate with the beast beside him so he looks up from his manuscript to study the animal, a little different than he remembers. Trinket has new grey hairs springing up all over his fur, aging him in an unnecessary way, as he’ll live as long Vex does. Scanlan refuses to touch his own barely noticeable grey hairs at his temple, equally as ridiculous given his relative age. Trinket seems to notice his stare and turns his attention to Scanlan instead of the sand. 

“Hey! Quit that-“

Bear slobber and his rough draft do not mix well and Scanlan fights to keep Trinket’s overpowering snuggles from ruining anything important but the bear only grunts and goes after Scanlan more energetically, tickling with his nose and covering him in bear fur. 

“Alright, alright! I’ll pet you just-“ Trinket’s head has settled like a mountain on Scanlan’s tiny chest. “-let me up.”

They come to a truce, allowing Scanlan to settle in the admittedly soft fur of Trinket’s side as he writes, limiting the derogatory bear comments if he wants to keep his pen. 

“I guess I should mention you in our history,” he looks up from writing with a sigh, “Vex would be pissed if I don’t.” 

Trinkets grunts again in what he assumes to be agreement and it strikes him that this is ridiculous. He waves his hand and says a few arcane words, determined to end these maddening grunts and guesses, finally. 

“Trinket, what would you like me to write about you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! I hope you liked it, I liked it, even though I think it had more potential I could've capitalized on. Oh well, I suppose. 
> 
> If any point during the story you said to yourself "Hey, that doesn't sound right for the timeline/some other specific facts for the show!" then, yes, you're probably right. I haven't actually watched the first campaign, but I've read a lot about it and seen lots of highlights, so I hope I did it justice anyway!
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


End file.
